i was recovering from an ordinary cold. it truly does take longer to recover and, at the same time, my body’s natural defense, a slightly elevated temperature, rose to the occasion. i sweated in the night and woke up refreshed, not yet well, but over the most uncomfortable part.
then, one night, unable to truly sleep sitting up, i somehow drifted off. then i woke suddenly with a start, unable to breathe. i wheezed, panicked, didn’t know what to do. couldn’t call 999. they wouldn’t get to me on time anyway, if i were to die. i raced to the toilet, wanting to vomit, to rid myself of whatever was blocking my airway. somehow, i recovered breath.
it left me shaking and scared. this is the fear of living alone. there is no one to help, no one to re-assure. on my own...
yet, it was not the time to die.
it was time to wake up and live some more.
and what to live for?
is this phase of life about preparing to die? is it about delving deeper into one's purpose? is it about finding meaning when there are fewer external structures to support an identity? is it about connecting with the most profound aspects of being human?
yes, and yes, and yes, and yes